


Hues of Lust.

by BarPurple



Series: Sherlolly Against the World [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Clothing Kink, Explicit Language, F/M, Language Kink, Purple Shirt of Sex, Sherlock's shirts, Willful destruction of clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 18:10:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5137598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's shirts have suffered a co-ordinated cull at the hands of Molly Hopper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes would probably admit that he was a bit of a clothes horse. He wouldn’t admit it to everyone, of course, but too a select few he would be honest that he was partial to a well-tailored suit. A good suit needed a good shirt; Sherlock had a lot of good shirts. ‘Had’ being the key word.

As he stood in front of his wardrobe this morning he noticed a strange pattern forming in his shirts. He had exactly the same amount of crisp white shirts that he had started the month with. Wait, no, there had been one casualty among the whites; a suspect trying to slash his own throat had ruined that shirt. The suspect was saved by John and then arrested on murder charges. Sherlock smiled a little as he recalled John’s comment that trying to off yourself in an A&E full of doctors was dumb. Possibly a bit not good, joking about suicide in St Barts, but Sherlock understood John’s wry gallows humour. 

It was his coloured shirts that had suffered an interesting and co-ordinated culling. Purples and blues all present and accounted for; the deep claret had survived, but the dove grey had fallen along with several of the pinstripes. The emerald green he purchased on a whim was no longer wearable by any stretch of the imagination.

Excluding the white one that fell on a case, the rest of the destroyed shirts all shared a common feature. He’d been wearing them when he’d had a date with Doctor Molly Hopper. The buttons of these shirts had been torn off by the deceptively delicate hands of his pathologist. She’d managed to rip a sleeve from the emerald green one. Sherlock rubbed a hand across his hip that held another reminded of that particular tryst. Molly was no mouse when it came to sex. Her fierce passion had left Sherlock jelly legged and dishevelled on many occasions. Oh he could give as good as he got, but there was something delicious about being reduced to a satisfied, boneless and grinning fool by a women so many overlooked.

He frowned at his wardrobe. The rate that Molly was destroying his shirts did present a bit of a problem. Sherlock loathed shopping, but loved the effect some of his shirts had on Molly. A quick phone call to his tailor solved the shirt problem, without him having to finish dressing and leave the flat which was a huge bonus. Grinning to himself Sherlock pulled on a pinstriped shirt and when to have some fun with his pathologist.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock strolled into the morgue thirty-three minutes before the end of Molly’s shift and groaned silently to himself. His pathologist was wearing a skirt today. In the lists of love it wouldn’t rate in the top one hundred of seductive clothing, but that chocolate knee length fabric did things to Sherlock’s libido that would make the next half hour difficult.

Damn. Maybe he had a clothing kink of his own. Interesting. Worth exploring at a later date.

Calling images of Mycroft in swimming trunks to the forefront of his mind palace Sherlock fiddled with his microscope while Molly finished talking to the dim witted college who currently had her attention. Once Nathan, Nigel, whoever scuttled out Molly turned to Sherlock. As he slowly slipped out of his Belstaff, he spotted the tiny frown that creased her brow as she caught sight of his pinstriped shirt. Now he was looking for it Sherlock wondered how it had taken him a month to see the pattern. Molly licked her lips as her eyes sparkled with lust, Sherlock’s blood rushed south, and that explained why it had taken him so look to notice her feelings towards his shirts.

Molly stepped into his personal space and stretched up to place a kiss on his lips. He gave her a peck, but snaked his arm around her waist and held her close as he kissed his way across to her ear.

“Molly. Molly. I’ve worked it out.”

She gave a little sigh as he nibbled her ear lobe.

“What have you worked out Sherlock?”

“Your kink for seeing me in certain colours.”

Molly eased back from him, but stayed within the circle of his arms. Sherlock smirked at the look on her face; just a touch of blush, but a hell of a lot of challenge in her eyes, His tongue darted across his bottom lip as he moved one hand to his shirt buttons.

“When you like the colour I’m in you open my buttons slowly.”

Sherlock demonstrated by slowly popping the first and second button of his shirt. Molly’s eyes followed his movements hungrily.

“When you dislike the colour of my shirt you are altogether more forceful about its removal.”

One handed Sherlock re-buttoned his shirt, his eye brows quirking suggestively at Molly. She smoothed her hands across his chest and dipped her thumbs between the button band and traced them across the skin beneath. For a long few seconds Sherlock thought their evening of fun was going to start right here in the morgue. Molly had always refused to get it on in her workplace before, Sherlock had no such qualms and judging by the tightening of his trousers his transport found the idea exciting.

Molly’s thumbs moved away from his flesh and rested back on the fabric of his shirt. She patted his chest in a condescending manner.

“Twenty minutes till the end of my shift Sherlock, if Clara’s not late, then half an hour back to Baker Street.”

She pushed away from him and Sherlock would never admit to the disappointed groan that escaped his lips. The whine in his voice he could not deny.

“Molly!”

“Sherlock?”

She threw him a wicked grin and he knew he’d lost, he did try to pout, but it never worked with her these days.

“You thought you arrive here and get me all hot, bothered and unprofessional? Two out of three ain’t bad, but we are not getting nasty in the morgue. You know that. Go get us a coffee.”  
Her eyes drifted down to his bulging crotch.

“Might want to picture Mycroft naked before you walk to the machine.”

She blew him a kiss and strolled into her office. Sherlock refused to show any weakness and turned on his heel to get the requested coffee. Thankfully the corridor was empty, Molly’s suggestion had shrunk his problem somewhat, but it still could have been awkward had anyone else been about.

As the nasty coffee poured into the cheap plastic cup Sherlock gently banged his head off the wall next to the machine. Two months into a real relationship with Molly and he knew she was the boss. He wasn’t upset over that, not in the slightest. He had no ridiculous macho inclinations, other than those he falsely exhibited in order to get what he wanted out of people. That sort of manipulation worked less with those who knew him well since the Fall; Mary Watson always knew when he was fibbing and Molly could practically read his mind and John, well John was the original translator of all things Sherlock. The reason his skull was getting close attention from the hideous pastel plaster of the wall was purely to get the image of his brother back behind the lead lined, steel door in his mind palace. Sherlock was looking forward to a deliciously sinful evening with Molly and there was no place for the barest hint of his brother.

Suitably calm Sherlock carefully carried the two cups of frankly awful coffee back to the morgue. He made a mental note to do a favour for someone in the vending machine industry, because the coffee situation here had to improve. As he walked through the doors to Molly’s domain he almost dropped the cups in sheer joy. Clara was here early. Yes!

“Hello Clara. I’ve brought you coffee. Molly and I will be heading off now.”

Molly rolled her eyes with a smile as she finished handing the morgue over to Clara. Her replacement could barely hold back the knowing grin on her face and for once Sherlock couldn’t care less. He grabbed his coat and fought to keep himself still as Molly gathered her belongings.

“Be good you two!”

“Always.”

Molly’s parting shot if anything increased the grin on Clara’s face. Clara shook her head as the doors to the morgue slammed behind the couple. She was so happy to see Molly’s love finally returned. The fact that the consulting detective was politer now was a bonus.

 

\---[]---

 

Sherlock’s fist clenched as he failed to hail a cab instantly. Molly giggled and stepped to the curb behind him, her hand in the air. A cab appeared from nowhere and slid to a stop beside them. The mumble from Sherlock, as he held that door open for his girlfriend, involved something about cockblocking cabbies and several swearwords. 

Sherlock scooted up to Molly’s side, his arm wrapping around her small frame, pulling her in close to him. Her hand slipped onto his knee and began rubbing gentle circles. The cabbie caught the movement in the rear view mirror and stepped a little heavier on the accelerator. Word had travelled quickly among those with The Knowledge about Mr Holmes’ lady friend. Getting the pair of them to Baker Street in a hurry meant a generous tip from the detective.

The cab pulled up outside Speedy’s sixteen minutes later, earning the cabbie a tenner tip. Molly and Sherlock were safely in the upstairs flat behind a locked door less than two minutes later. 

 

\---[]---

 

Coats were shrugged out of and feet kicked free of shoes. Molly launched herself at Sherlock and practically ran up his lanky form to wrap her legs around his waist. For the next few minutes the only sound in the flat was that of lips and tongues exploring wetly. Sherlock pulled back to breathe.

“So shall we explore this dislike you have for some of my shirts Doctor Hooper?”

Molly rested her head against his shoulder as Sherlock carried her towards his bedroom. Her fingers were already toying with the collar of his annoying pinstripe shirt. He dropped her on to his bed and grinned wolfishly as her chocolate skirt flared and bounced around her thighs. In one fluid movement Sherlock was on his knees, pushing the suede fabric up to her waist, revealing the knee high socks Molly wore underneath. This is why his pulse raced at the sight of this sensible skirt. Molly never wore tights with this skirt and that meant that her pale thighs were bare and Sherlock had easier access.

“Oooh. Sherlock!”

His talented tongue licked lines up her thigh and Molly let herself be lost in the wondrous sensation. His finger nails soon joined in tracing gently across her flesh and occasionally scratching or nipping.

“About my shirts Molly.”

This was one of Sherlock’s favourite ploys during sex; talking and questioning while turning Molly into mush. She’d been amazed at just how coherently she could answer during orgasm; well up to orgasm at least. She took a steadying breath as Sherlock’s tongue lapped at the crotch of her knickers.

“You look amazing in so many of your shirts. That purple one makes everyone’s loins quiver…”

“Quiver like that Molly?”

“Yesss, oooh. Pinstripe makes you look angular and gangly and I don’t like that.”

Sherlock’s tongue stopped and he pulled back. Molly forced her elbows under her and sat up to find him staring at her from between her thighs. It was a damn fine sight, except for that bloody shirt. He settled back on his knees as she sat forward.

“I was wearing a pinstripe shirt the day we first met at St Barts.”

Molly nodded and took each point of the collar in a hand.

“You were. You’re not that man anymore.”

She pulled hard on the collar points and the first few buttons pinged away from the fabric.

“I’ve found I rather enjoy ripping the reminders of the old you away.”

Another sharp tug and there were only two brave buttons clinging onto their positions. Molly looked into Sherlock’s eyes; with his pupils this large his chameleon irises looked even more like something celestial; an icy star eclipsed by a dark planet.

“ _Vos semper vident cor meum_.” 

Molly snaked her fingers into his curls and kissed him hard; her mouth sucking on his bottom lip; her tongue twisting against his as he let her plunder and take all of him.  
Her blouse lost a button to Sherlock’s frantic fingers and Molly found herself giggling at the thought of it joining the other fallen fastenings on the bedroom floor. She went to push Sherlock’s wrecked shirt from his shoulders, but he pulled away. Molly’s brow creased into a small frown.

“Tear the sleeve off. Like you did with the emerald one. Please?”

Sherlock’s voice was thick with lust. Molly smirked and moved her mouth to just below the seam of his shirt. She nipped the fabric between her teeth and tugged until she felt it tear.

“You weaken the material first. _Callidus_.”

Molly wiggled her finger into the small hole. Once she’d worked it large enough she tugged and tore the sleeve. The ripping sound was loud in the heated air of the bedroom. Sherlock moaned and bit his bottom lip.

“I think I’m catching your kink Molly.”

Her nimble fingers flew to his trouser button as her lips kissed his ear.

“Shared kinks are the best kinks.”

With a growl Sherlock was on his feet pushing trousers and pants off in one go. Molly pulled her blouse off and snapped open the clasp of her bra. As she flung her clothing away Sherlock pushed her backwards and tugged her skirt off. His naked erection twitched at the sight of her lying on his bed in only knickers and knee high socks. Molly rolled her hips seductively as Sherlock’s long fingers traced up over the fabric of her socks and began toying with her thighs. Her eyes fluttered closed as his fingers drifted higher. Callouses on his left fingers rough; the softer tips of his bow hand delicate in contrast, both sensations delicious, different, both her Sherlock.

His thumbs brushed across her clit and she moaned, the pressure gone to soon, replaced by insistent tugging at her waist. Molly dug her heels into the bed and canted her hips up. There was a second of chill as her knickers were pulled away from her hot wet sex, then warmth as Sherlock covered her. His mouth sought a nipple as her hand cradled his head to her chest; the blunt head of his cock teasing as her slick folds.

“Tell me about the shirts you like.”

“Hummm?”

“Why you take them off so slowly.”

Sherlock’s tongue did something wicked to Molly’s nipple, all she could do was groan. Wetting her dry lips with a slow lick she panted;

“I like the way the colours look against your skin. So pale as I undo – ooh do that again – undo each button. The more buttons I undo the more you flush. All that beautiful skin coloured with arousal just for me. Oh Sherlock!”

Molly cried his name as he thrust into her; her orgasm came out of nowhere catching them both by surprise. She clenched hard around Sherlock as her legs wrapped around his hips.

“Bloody hell Molly!”

His hips thrust hard twice before he spilled inside her; her name a choked scream from his throat.

Sherlock managed to collapse to one side, so as not to crush Molly beneath him. As his vision returned from the orgasmic white out he realized their legs were still tangled together, Molly twisted on to her side her eyes closed and a contented smile across her face. His hand trembled slightly as he stroked her face.

“I think protocol requires I apologise for finishing so suddenly.”

“Oh fuck protocol that was bloody awesome.”

Sherlock chuckled; Molly’s language took a dive toward the vulgar during sex, but this was the first time he’d heard her swear in such a blissful tone. He rolled them into a more comfortable position and chuckled again.

“What you laughing at?”

“One; we’ve both left our socks on.”

Molly raised her head slightly and laughed at the sight of their sock clad feet. She snuggled back into his chest and asked;

“Secondly?”

“I placed a monthly order with my tailor today.”

“What for?”

“Half a dozen pinstripe shirts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Knowledge is a test London cab drivers can take. Basically it involves knowing the city roads as well as Sherlock does.
> 
> The Latin translates (according to Google) as:
> 
> Vos semper vident cor meum - You always see my heart.
> 
> Callidus - clever.
> 
> What was going to be a short smutty chapter turned into 2k+ words, simply because I was so encouraged by the huge response to chapter one. Thank you all, hope this lives up to your Sherlolly smut desires.

**Author's Note:**

> Show of hands, who wants the following chapter of passionate smut?
> 
> Anybody?


End file.
